


please return if found

by lingeringdust



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blasphemy, M/M, also, bc sex in a church, because this fic called for it, lapslock, lyric prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lingeringdust/pseuds/lingeringdust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jaejoong chases after home & yoochun runs away from it. </p><p>au where jaejoong moves into a new apartment & finds items left behind by the previous occupant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	please return if found

jaejoong finds things.

 

there’s an old keyboard tucked away in the back of a closet, dust settling into its crevices with the passage of time. he tinkers with it, lets his fingers follow a tuneless rhythm. some of the keys are off tune, but that’s okay.

  
he spends an entire day fixing it and cleaning it up and by the time he’s done, it looks brand new and the keys play a flawless in-tune chord.

  
“when did you get that?” junsu says one day when he’s visiting the new apartment.

  
he holds a bottle of juice in his hands, downing it in quickly in one gulp.

  
jaejoong no longer fears for his brand new keyboard’s safety.

  
“found it,” he says, shrugging. “last owner must have left it. come and sit with me, junsu-yah, play for me.”

  
junsu sits, squeezes himself close to jaejoong, and tries to teach him the basic scales.

  
before junsu leaves, he manages to knock over a can of yellow paint. it spills, liquid sinking into the spaces between the wooden planks, dripping in yellow happiness.

 

*

 

one day, jaejoong finds a pair of headphones -- brand new. they’re the expensive kind, too, with soft cushions for either ear and the surround sound of the universe buried in its tiny machinations.

  
he makes use of them. during the nights, he buries himself in the heavy japanese rock, sometimes singing along in accented japanese and half mumbling gibberish mixed with korean.

  
it comforts him, reminds him of the days when he would lean against his mother’s shoulder while she sang him to sleep. reminds him of horrible family karaoke nights. of how changmin and he would attempt to learn japanese only to sing jrock songs.

  
sometimes, on the walk from the bus stops, he pulls out the headphones and slips it on, listens to the music. hums softly under his breath.

  
and it’s during these long walks that he wonders if the previous owner had done the same.

 

*

 

and then there’s the notebook.

  
in the middle of spring cleaning one day, jaejoong finds a half-filled notebook -- long forgotten probably because of its position hidden between the couch, the floor, and the TV stand. he picks it up, dusts it off, and looks through it.

  
there are scribbles and doodles and notes. half composed melodies scratched onto the surface of the paper, some with lyrics and some without.

  
he plays them all on the keyboard. at first, he sounds horrible, fingers too unused to the formal playing -- the way junsu had taught him, but then he gets better, over time.

  
he teaches himself, following along to the notes written on the page on the notebook, pretends that the composer, the owner of the notebook, is watching with guarded interest to make sure he doesn’t fuck up

  
he practices for days and for days, comes home straight from work and lets himself free on the keys.

  
and he sings along with the written lyrics and slowly, the melodies come to life.

 

*

 

the melodies get stuck in his head, playing over and over again in the middle of the night, keeping him up and wide awake and wondering, wondering, wondering about the previous occupant of the apartment. wondering about the musical ghost that haunts the apartment. wondering why the ghost still lingers through the hallways, leaves behind pieces of himself.

  
“what happened to him?” jaejoong asks the landlord one day.

  
yunho is nice.

  
he’s a kind landlord, does the best he can. he’s always offering extensions on rent even before jaejoong can ask and whenever jaejoong asks for more than an extension, yunho just smiles and says he’ll help best he can.

  
some days, jaejoong invites yunho over, cooks for him, as a thank you because he knows yunho lives alone and though he has a girlfriend, neither of them can really cook as well as jaejoong.

  
and besides, jaejoong is lonely.

  
today, yunho shrugs, says he doesn’t know why.

  
“just up and left one day,” yunho says. “trying leave behind memories maybe."

  
curiosity builds in jaejoong, nearly overwhelming him. he wants to burst forth with questions, the sentences nearly spilling out of his lips, but he holds them back. just. barely. holds them back.

  
“what’s his name?”

  
yunho takes a moment to think.

  
“yoochun,” he finally says, after a moment. “yes, i think that was his name -- park yoochun. i think he was a pianist.”

  
“park yoochun,” jaejoong says, lets the name linger over his tongue, lets it sink into his being and lets it be with him.

  
already, he feels warm.

 

*

 

jaejoong wants to find him.

 

*

 

jaejoong does research. he googles park yoochun. he scours the apartment for the last remnants of yoochun’s ghosts.

  
(he finds a photograph stuck to the back wall underneath the sink. the corners are dark with mildew and age.

  
it’s a photograph of a smiling boy, dark hair and dark eyes. his arm is slung around another boy -- younger -- with similar features. they look alike.

  
on the back, it reads:

  
_yoohwan, i miss you & i’m sorry_)

 

*

 

jaejoong clicks ‘search’ and the first page is filled with stories about a pianist.

  
he clicks the first website.

  
_park yoochun is an professional pianist and aspiring composer with a love of golfing, hiking, and basketball. he currently resides everywhere and nowhere._

  
(pictured: a chubby cheeked man with dark hair and dark eyes, grinning cheekily at the camera.)

  
jaejoong stares at the boy-man, wonders.

 

*

 

“you going on a trip?” changmin asks.

  
he lounges on the couch, flipping through one of the many death note manga jaejoong owns.

  
a suitcase leans against the wall, heavy with the weight of clothes, other assortments that jaejoong had packed, and the lost items meant to be returned.

  
(except for the keyboard -- he didn’t want to carry that)

  
“yes,” jaejoong says. “trying to return some lost items.”

  
changmin smirks from behind the manga.

  
“good luck with that, hyung,” he says, lips saying he knows better than to expect a short trip.

 

*

 

on the first night, jaejoong picks up the notebook, skims through it. he spends minutes, nearly an hour staring at the first page, listening to the half-assed melody in his head.

  
and then he impulsively reaches for a pen and jots down his own songs. fills in the blanks to yoochun’s harmony.

  
he sings. he listens. he pulls the headphones -- the ones he found which he now uses daily, nightly -- off his ears, onto his neck. it hugs his skin, warms him up, comforts him.

  
jaejoong can imagine park yoochun leaning over his shoulder, smiling, breath tickling the hairs on the back of jaejoong’s neck.

 

*

 

week one ends.

  
jaejoong surveys the recital hall, looks for any traces of park yoochun.

  
he finds a plaque with yoochun’s name on it, honoring the man for his accomplishments in the composition of music. he traces the name cut into the wood, lets his finger dip into the engraved hangul and follows the way it bends and curves.

 

*

 

“park yoochun,” jaejoong says, lets the name linger in his mouth, lets it stay, lets it sink into his body.

 

*

 

“what’s so important about this guy?” changmin asks.

  
the static buzzes over the phone. jaejoong cranes his neck and moves from the bed to the windows of his hotel room for a better signal.

  
he sighs.

  
he can’t quite explain, can’t say why he feels compelled to meet park yoochun. he wants to see him in person, wants to see his music come alive, wants to talk to park yoochun, wants to touch him.

  
“i’m just returning some lost items,” jaejoong says again instead. “wouldn’t you appreciate it if someone did that?”

  
from over the phone, jaejoong can hear changmin sigh.

 

*

 

south korea is a small country, but seoul is a big city. trying to find one single person was --

  
jaejoong growls.

  
\--definitely like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

  
week two ends with more heartbroken songs scribbled into the margins of the notebook.

  
(the pages have long been filled with more hopeful tunes, melodies, just waiting for its harmony.)

 

*

 

week three starts like this.

 

*

 

“let me help,” junsu says one day, appearing in front of jaejoong’s hotel door with a yellow suitcase in hand.

  
“wha--junsu-yah.”

  
junsu brushes past jaejoong, drags his suitcase along. the wheels emit a ghastly squeak.

  
“what -- why -- how did you even find me?” jaejoong sputters.

  
“asked yunho,” junsu says. he lets the suitcase fall and sits himself on one of the chairs, leans back, and pulls out an apple out of nowhere.

  
jaejoong runs a hand through his hair and walks away, muttering under his breath about how he needed to not tell anyone where he was going one day.

 

*

 

together, the two of them search the smaller musical venues, theatres, music organizations, orchestra halls and recital halls, and even invaded a few music production sites (one of which kicked the two of them out and promptly banned them from ever setting foot inside).

  
junsu even connects them with some of his musical friends, asks them to keep an eye and ear out for this mysterious pianist.

some of them have heard of park yoochun and more still haven’t --

  
“sounds like some bougie dude,” kwang ho tells the two of them. “too good for the musical world i think.”

  
junsu presses a hand on jaejoong’s shoulder, squeezes in comfort.

  
“maybe you should take a break,” he says. “get a gig outside of seoul for a while and then come back and search some more.”

  
jaejoong sighs, lets his head fall to rest on junsu’s shoulder.

  
people filter in and out of the subway, the only noise is the scuffle of their footsteps and some teenager’s loud music blaring from their headphones. jaejoong is reminded of the ones that rest inside his bag.

  
“maybe,” he says, but doesn’t promise.

  
the rest of the ride back to the hotel room is quiet.

 

*

 

jaejoong decides to take a break from his search. he goes home, unpacks his bags, and then repacks it.

  
he bites his lips, calls junsu.

  
“i’m going out to tongyeong,” he says. “found a job there.”

  
he can hear junsu smile even from over the phone.

  
“you’ll do great,” junsu says. “like always.”

  
and then --

  
“i’m sure you’ll be great as a farmer too~”

  
“yah!” jaejoong yells.

 

*

 

changmin hums and haws and lets out as many different types of noises he could possibly produce when jaejoong tells him about the new contract position.

  
“so can i have your apartment when you decide to be a farmer,” he says.

  
jaejoong pauses.

  
“no.”

 

*

 

jaejoong doesn’t have a traditional job, per se. which is why it’s hard to pay rent on time some months -- he works as a contract artist, a community artist, a teaching artist, pilfers his skills onto the community .does work for the community.

  
beautifies the community with artwork.

  
there are many after school organizations that ask for his services, ask him to come in and teach a painting course or two or even a series if he’s lucky.

  
and then there are others that ask him to do a mural.

  
“make it pop,” they say, “like wow! like someone driving by would want to slow down to see it again!”

  
his work is for the community; it’s about the community.

  
but sometimes he thinks he should be selfish and try to find something for himself.

 

*

 

“again?” yunho says.

  
jaejoong shrugs.

  
“sorry yunho-yah.”

  
yunho sighs.

  
“just make sure next month is on time.”

 

*

 

it’s about a five and a half hour long ride from seoul to tongyeong so jaejoong settles into the train, settles into the rocky lulling movements as it slowly passes by the city and the people, the trees and the grass, as it slowly enters more and more country.

  
he lets himself sink into the old cushions, lets himself rest. his eyelids fall and he’s out like a light around hour two, but his insomnia kicks in and he’s wide awake and unable to fall asleep by hour four and a quarter.

  
the person sitting across from him snorts when he jolts awake, but doesn’t say anything.

  
jaejoong gets up, stretches. then, after a few moments of getting used to the gentle waves of the train, he heads towards the door.

  
“buy me some juice, would you?” the man across from him says, like they’re friends.

  
jaejoong pauses, looks back, furrows his eyebrows.

  
“sure.”

  
and he starts walking.

 

*

 

the train rocks to a stop and jaejoong bids yihan farewell as he gathers his things and heads out the door.

  
yihan smiles, sad, like he knows they won’t meet again even after exchanging numbers.

  
“bye,” he says, waves the empty bottle of juice up. “thanks for the juice.”

  
“you owe me, hyung,” jaejoong says, reminds the other man.

  
yihan laughs.

 

*

 

the village is small, especially when compared to seoul. but it still takes him another hour or so to get to the tiny home he’ll be sharing with other visiting artists from the city.

  
a tiny frail-looking woman greets him when he arrives at the neighborhood, surrounded with his suitcase and boxes of art supplies. she gestures towards her car, where the tinted windows hide the driver’s face.

  
after loading everything in, they head in and she starts chattering about the new project. about jaejoong’s new gig.

  
“i can’t wait for you to get started,” she gushes. “there’s another visiting artist too, but he’s mostly just helping out with the farm now.”

  
jaejoong smiles.

 

*

 

night falls by the time they arrive.

  
the woman, sunyoung, heads inside to get some food ready and waves him off to unpack. the driver disappears so jaejoong ends up lugging his suitcase and the two boxes up.

  
the room is dark when he arrives so he doesn’t notice the pair of inside shoes hanging by the doorway and ends up falling flat on his face when he trips over them.

  
"fuck," jaejoong yelps.

  
"you kiss your mother with that mouth?" someone behind him says.

  
jaejoong tries to turn to face the new stranger but he gets tangled up in the pile of folded futons and blankets left near the door.

  
"here," the stranger says.

  
jaejoong squints through the darkness and takes the proffered hand. but gravity fails him and he ends up pulling the stranger down with him.

  
a crash and another muffled curse.

  
the stranger's body is warm, pressed tight against jaejoong’s own. he can feel the other man’s breathing tickling the hairs on the back of his neck, can feel the weight of the man and how his body curves and --

  
"let me get the lights."

  
a grunt and then jaejoong blinks at the sudden brightness, tries to adjust.

  
he looks at the stranger and his jaw drops.

  
park yoochun stares back.

  
"i’m park yoochun," he says, holds out his hand.

  
and because jaejoong lacks a brain to mouth filter, he says, “i know.”

  
jaejoong immediately knows he shouldn’t have said that by the way yoochun’s shoulders stiffen, how his steps are suddenly heavy and seem to drag across the wooden flooring as he moves to gather the futons and blankets.

  
“you’re a fan?” yoochun says.

  
“no,” jaejoong says. “maybe, i don’t know.”

  
yoochun’s shoulders seems to ease a little as he turns to look at jaejoong.

  
“you left a few things in my apartment,” jaejoong says. “your old apartment. i tried looking for you to give them back.”

  
yoochun still looks lost.

  
“my old apartment?” he echoes.

  
jaejoong gets up and grabs his backpack. he digs through it and it’s not long until he finds what he’s looking for -- the pair of headphones he’s been using almost every night and every step of the journey he’s taken looking for park yoochun.

  
he holds it out, watches as yoochun cautiously moves closer, and slips the headphones into yoochun’s palms.

  
“wow,” yoochun says, after a long silence. “i never thought i’d see these again.”

  
then, he shoves it into jaejoong’s arms.

  
“you can have it,” he says and stalks off to the bathroom.

 

*

 

now that he’s met park yoochun, he’s not sure how to approach the other man, not sure what to say, what to mention.

  
he’s not sure how to even begin to vocalize why he had felt compelled to try to find him.

  
he just doesn’t know.

  
he just wants to talk to yoochun.

 

*

 

the project is messy.

  
the students are young and primary age so jaejoong watches them as one scatters paint everywhere on the floor without any intention of cleaning it up. another kid runs around and chases another with a paintbrush.

  
one even has the audacity to stare at jaejoong while he tries to explain the project and then crumple up a piece of construction paper and stuffing it in his mouth before giving jaejoong a cheeky grin.

  
yoochun is helpful though.

  
since jaejoong is new, most of the kids don’t trust him and spend most of the day testing him out. they ask him questions about his hair (why is blonde? were you born with yellow hair?) and questions about his earrings (ewww! are you a girl? why do you have earrings?) and if he has a girlfriend (no) or boyfriend (no) and how many siblings he has (too many).

  
“they’re a handful,” jaejoong says, after the kids leave for the day. he wipes the sweat that had accumulated from chasing after wandering primary age kids and making sure they didn’t get lost (they knew the place better than he did) and trying to keep up with everyone’s attention.

  
“yeah,” yoochun says. he rolls up the newspaper covering the table and tosses it.

  
“how long have you been here?” jaejoong tries, after a moment, when all yoochun does is continue cleaning up and avoiding jaejoong’s stares.

  
“a while,” yoochun says.

  
jaejoong hums, then finished wiping off the last of the tables.

  
“c’mon,” he says, sidling up to yoochun’s side. “let’s grab some drinks for a celebratory first day!”

  
yoochun stops, pauses to stare at jaejoong, as though jaejoong had grown another head.

  
when yoochun still doesn’t say anything, and if anything, it looked like he was about to refuse, jaejoong adds, “my treat.”

  
“sure,” yoochun says, this time without a pause.

 

*

 

jaejoong forgets about how much he can actually drink and because yoochun doesn’t know, he ends up dragging a drunk yoochun home after a night of drinks, laughter, and actual bonding.

  
it feels weird, but jaejoong feels a connection with yoochun. he knows it.

  
when the two of them had sat down and began the first round of drinks, they immediately clicked. their conversations bounced from the inane to the ridiculous and none of it ever felt fake and --

  
jaejoong wants more.

  
“you, you, you,” yoochun murmurs, voice muffled due to jaejoong’s shoulder as the older man lugs him back to the home they were staying in.

  
“me what, yoochun-ah?”

  
yoochun pauses and moves to look at jaejoong.

  
“stupid face,” he says, happily, and rubs a sticky hand on jaejoong’s face.

  
jaejoong grins.

  
yoochun falls asleep fast. he’s completely passed out by the time they arrive -- a dead weight on jaejoong’s back -- and jaejoong has to maneuver very carefully to avoid waking the other man up and set up the futons and blankets and pillows.

  
thankfully, yoochun wakes up enough to move by himself to his own side of the room, but knocks out again once he lays down.

  
jaejoong tosses a blanket over the other man and just before he turns back to his side, he pauses and stares, crouches down low to face yoochun’s stupid sleeping face.

  
“are you going to tell me why you’re here?” he asks to no one.

 

*

 

on nights where they stay in, jaejoong brings out the headphones, pulls them close to his ears, and blares his music. those nights, he takes out a new notebook and starts jotting down his new ideas, his new songs.

  
sometimes, he hums under his breath and when he’s alone (when yoochun’s out), he sings.

  
but every time he has it out, yoochun always walks by with the most uncomfortable expression -- as if the mere presence of the headphones physically pained him.

  
one night, jaejoong’s in the middle of rocking out to glamorous sky, dancing on top of his futon, complete with headbanging and what he’s sure is his screeching voice trying to imitate hyde’s high vocals, when yoochun slides the door open.

  
jaejoong doesn’t notice at first, too enraptured in his pretend audience, but when he spins around and catches a glimpse of yoochun, he immediately stops.

  
the music plays on.

  
yoochun blinks then eyes the headphones and leaves, taking his bag with him.

  
“well fuck you too,” jaejoong mutters. “not like you’ve never done this.”

 

*

 

but jaejoong seems to have misjudged yoochun because he invites jaejoong out.

  
“i want to see the river,” yoochun says. “come with me.”

  
it’s a chilly night so they pack some blankets along with their oversized but not-warm-enough coats, lugging with them a bag of random snacks before making their way out the door.

  
“which way?” jaejoong says. because yoochun has been here longer and knows the way.

  
but yoochun shrugs and points and they wander aimlessly.

  
it takes nearly two hours instead of the planned half hour trip to find a body of water. and even then, jaejoong finds himself standing in front of a measly stream.

  
they sit, press their bodies close (“because it’s cold!” jaejoong insists) and watch the stream just be.

  
“this isn’t even a river,” jaejoong accuses.

  
“this is tongyeong,” yoochun reasons. “we’re surrounded by the sea.”

  
jaejoong huffs. “some date,” he mutters.

  
yoochun snorts.

  
but despite the darkness, jaejoong is sure yoochun’s cheeks are as red as his own.

 

*

 

“wait a minute,” yoochun says, one afternoon they have off.

  
jaejoong looks up from his book, pushes up his glasses.

  
“is that --?” yoochun walks over, long strides purposeful now that he’s got an eye on something and jaejoong looks and -- yoochun’s focus is on the notebook, yellow and bright with worn edges, hanging off one of the countertops.

  
yoochun flips through the notebook, eyes wide and bright. it’s the first time jaejoong has seen yoochun look this happy about -- about anything really.

  
“i haven’t seen this in…” yoochun trails off, flips the notebook horizontally to read some of jaejoong’s scribbles.

  
jaejoong gets up, pushes his book aside.

  
“about that,” he says, making his way to yoochun.

  
“you wrote this,” yoochun says. “you added to my stuff?”

  
jaejoong gulps, nods.

  
yoochun eyes the notebook’s contents, flips through it some more, gives a few nods and shakes of his head as he goes along. the more he flips through the notebook, the more visible his frown is -- which causes jaejoong to titter on his toes.

  
and then yoochun looks up.

  
“i wish i had a keyboard,” he says. “to see how these sound.”

  
jaejoong pauses.

  
“not to brag but i tried and they sound amazing.”

  
yoochun scoffs, but hums jaejoong’s melody under his breath and jaejoong preens when he smiles.

  
then yoochun looks up.

  
“there’s a piano in the church,” he says. “let’s go.”

  
and without another moment and because it’s probably because yoochun thinks jaejoong still doesn’t know his way or that jaejoong doesn’t know the way to the church, yoochun takes jaejoong’s hand and pulls him out the door.

 

*

 

the church is dark and quiet when they enter. only a pastor wanders the hallway, greeting them with a smile and a wave.

  
yoochun pulls jaejoong to the piano in one of the classrooms in the basement and lets jaejoong scoot close to him as he sets the yellow notebook in front.

  
“you want me to play it first?” jaejoong says.

  
yoochun shoves at jaejoong.

  
“no,” he says. “i’m going first.”

  
jaejoong rolls his eyes, but lets yoochun settle his fingers over the keys, lets him assume his much more professional posture, lets him assume his old self.

  
music flows. the notes ring throughout the classroom, echoing in a hauntingly beautiful harmony -- lets it set the tone for the song -- and then yoochun brings the melody in. brings it to a rise, lets it crescendo into a single. breathtaking. note.

  
jaejoong begins humming and slowly, the lyrics he had jotted down during the nights when he was barely coherent and awake, come to him. and he sings.

  
yoochun’s body is even closer now and jaejoong feels warm -- too warm. as if someone had set the boiler on high and let it seep into the classrooms and into the air between them.

  
before jaejoong can think, his hand is on top of yoochun’s.

  
the music stops.

  
“ah, sorry about that,” jaejoong says, almost too casually. he tries to move his hand away, but yoochun’s other hand comes up, grasps his wrist.

  
“stay,” yoochun says.

  
and yoochun leans forward, their breaths intermingling, hot and cold all at the same time, pressing shivers down jaejoong’s spine, and yoochun kisses him. one of his hands comes up, cups jaejoong’s cheek and jaejoong leans into the touch. the other clutches jaejoong’s hand, wraps long pale fingers around jaejoong’s shorter ones, intertwines the fingers. links them.

  
and yoochun leans forward, presses against jaejoong, lets him fall, back leaning against the hard wooden bench.

  
jaejoong’s hand slides under yoochun’s shirt, hands traveling in circles on yoochun’s skin. touching everything, the slopes of yoochun’s spine, the sharp angles of his hips, and the softness of yoochun’s flesh.

  
and then jaejoong’s hands travel lower and lower, unbuckling the belt and whipping it off.

  
“should i stop?” jaejoong says, between kisses, utterly out of breath.

  
yoochun stares back with hooded eyes.

  
“haven’t you ever heard _song of songs_?” he asks.

  
it’s clear that yoochun isn’t expecting an answer because he bites down on jaejoong’s neck, presses gentle kisses, lets jaejoong try to stifle a yelp. and then he whispers in jaejoong’s ear.

  
“it’s basically erotica in the bible,” yoochun says. kisses deeper, kisses harder.

  
jaejoong breaks, stares at yoochun.

  
“less religion talk,” he says. “more of everything else.” and plunges his hand in yoochun’s boxers. grasps him in his hand, and tugs. pulls.

  
yoochun gasps in their kiss, then pushes back, harder, nips at jaejoong’s lips. his hand comes down and jaejoong feels dizzy from the warmth, feels hot, feels overwhelmed, feels -- yoochun.

  
he can’t stop, even if he needs breath, because he doesn’t, not really.

  
all he needs is yoochun.

 

*

 

they do it again in bed. teeth grazing skin, hands cupping ass, lips pressing light kisses down, down, traveling down from lips to cock and cock to lips.

  
their hands link together as they rock together, in sync, as if they were one person. as if they had always been one person.

  
jaejoong sighs happily, pushes himself back into yoochun’s chest, and then turns around, burrows his head into the warmth.

  
yoochun holds him and lets jaejoong hold him.

 

*

 

“why do i feel like i know you?” yoochun asks.

  
one of jaejoong’s hands is in yoochun’s hair, playing with the curls that end at yoochun’s shoulders. he twirls it around his finger, feels it smooth and comforting.

  
“i don’t know,” jaejoong says. “i’ve always thought we were connected.”

  
he thinks back to the first time he saw the keyboard and the headphones. thinks back to the notebook, half full of dreams about music, about broken hearts, and grief. thinks about the picture of yoochun and who he assumes is yoohwan.

  
“yeah?” yoochun says.

  
“yeah,” jaejoong says. “since i saw your things. since i found your picture.”

  
at the mention of the picture, yoochun frowns.

  
“what picture?”

  
“of you,” jaejoong says. “and --” he pauses, scrunching his nose. “yoohwan?”

  
yoochun stiffens.

  
“oh.”

  
the dark scowl marring yoochun’s face, the sudden stiffness in his limbs, and the way their connection felt as though it were dampened, let jaejoong know he had overstepped.

  
“yoochunnie,” jaejoong says. “who is yoohwan?”

  
quietness in the dark always seemed longer than it actually was. yoochun lets the silence hang between them, lets jaejoong squirm.

  
“my brother,” yoochun says. “ _was_ my brother.”

  
“oh.”

  
yoochun doesn’t add anything else, but jaejoong can feel some tension leave yoochun’s shoulders. he rubs at them, rubs away the aches and the pain of yoohwan.

  
then.

  
“yoohwan gave me those headphones,” yoochun says. he presses his head into jaejoong’s shoulder.

  
jaejoong can feel tears on his bare shoulder, dripping onto the futon, wet and sticky with loss and grief.

  
yoochun doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the night.

 

*

 

afterwards, yoochun doesn’t say anything else so jaejoong just holds him. holds his hand. gives yoochun’s shoulder a squeeze. lets his hand lean into yoochun, lets the other man know that jaejoong’s here.

  
but yoochun still doesn’t talk. clamps up whenever jaejoong tries to bring it up. brushes off the comforting hands and as the end date comes closer and closer, pushes jaejoong further and further away.

 

*

 

the project ends.

  
the organization jaejoong had been under contract with wants to throw him a going-away party, a large one with attendees from students and their parents and probably their neighbors too. but jaejoong just wants to go home, wants his bed, wants his room, wants to cook his food again, wants.

  
but there’s yoochun.

  
yoochun’s been hanging around the town for a while now -- since.

  
since yoohwan’s death, probably, jaejoong thinks.

  
he doesn’t know when that was, when yoochun had decided to come out; he doesn’t know anything really except why.

  
“are you staying?” yoochun asks, when the kids leave.

  
“i have to go back,” jaejoong says. _i have a life there._

  
yoochun sighs, as if he had expected it. he doesn’t say anything else.

  
but a stab of anger pricks through jaejoong. he wants yoochun to listen, to move on. to talk. he can’t continue to be with yoochun if yoochun couldn’t be receptive to his words. if they couldn’t talk.

  
“no,” jaejoong says. “you’re coming back, too. you can’t stay here forever, you can’t run away forever.”

  
yoochun looks up, glaring at jaejoong.

  
“you don’t know anything,” he says.

  
“you’re right,” jaejoong answers. “i don’t, but that doesn’t mean it’ll stay like that. i’ll listen, you know that, if you’re willing to talk.”

  
yoochun purses his lips.

  
“the bus takes me to the train tomorrow morning,” jaejoong continues, after a prolonged silence. “come or don’t, i can’t care anymore,” he lies.

  
and he turns, walks back to the room they shared. hopes yoochun stays out for a while.

  
he can’t bring himself to begin packing.

  
he cares too much; it was one of the reasons why he came searching for yoochun.

 

*

 

jaejoong takes a taxi to the bus stop where it’ll take him to the nearest airport -- but only because he has to lug his suitcase and a box of leftover art supplies he has to take back with him. the bus stop is empty save for a woman in a business suit, looking professional and not a hair out of place.

  
he gives her a polite bow and settles into waiting, pulling out the headphones.

  
it stays around his neck for most of the wait, mostly because he’s thinking about yoochun, about yoohwan. about the last gift yoohwan had given yoochun and how yoochun couldn’t even look at it anymore.

  
the bus rumbles to a stop before him.

  
businesswoman and he get on; she helps with a box, carrying only a briefcase herself, and the two of them share an easy conversation about the weather.

  
the bus doesn’t move though -- a taxi pulls up -- and the last person to board stumbles up the stairs, two steps at a time, as if in a hurry to meet with someone.

  
“yoochun,” jaejoong says.

  
yoochun’s cheeks are bright and red, flushed with adrenaline and fear, eyes wide and a little incoherent.

  
“jaejoong,” he says. he walks over to jaejoong until he’s right next to him, lets jaejoong look up from his seat.

  
“you’re right,” yoochun says. “you’re right; i have to learn to move on; i have to - to face it. i'll talk.”

  
and then he gives jaejoong a quirk of his lips.

  
“besides, i still have to get my stuff back.”

  
jaejoong grins and pulls yoochun down.

  
the bus pulls out and jaejoong’s hand clamps over yoochun’s. he lets his eyes fall shut, tries to imagine home, thinks of it, but he can’t, he doesn’t have to. he looks at yoochun.

  
he’s already home.

 

 


End file.
